Old Scars Don't Heal
by Lispet
Summary: Matthew winced as sharply as his twin would have in the next room as the sharp, blunt sound of the slap reached his ears. Arthur was such a violent, bitter drunk. Rated M for Violence, smut and non-con-shota. Russ/Ame, USUK, Can/Ukr.
1. Prologue

Hi-ya guys! This is a preview to my very first non-one-shot up here! It's actually part of the Hetalia kink-meme, but I think it deserves a longer setting than a one-shot. I've been given so much detail to work with, so I shall make this good. If I can.

Now mind you, I won't actually upload chapters if people don't tell me that they like it. I can find out how many people visit the page that this is on, but I don't know if you like it or not. So fave or comment/review or whatever's done here and then I'll put more chapters up, unless of course, I get a horrible case of writers block, and I have to resort to my other Hetalia long story that I have stockpiled, but I want to get well into before posting any of it anywhere.

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><p><strong>Old Scars Don't Heal<strong>

**Prologue**

Whilst the two teens did like each other more than what was requited, their closeness was what they felt more of a necessity, rather than a simple _want_. Nations didn't want. They ran on instincts. And that instinct drove Matthew and Maria to uncomfortable closeness.

'I'm so sorry.' Matthew whispered, covering Maria's ears with his hands. He didn't want her to hear this. He thought that Alfred wasn't going to be home today. Wasn't he too busy fighting papa Francis in that stupid hundred-year war?

He winced as sharply as his twin would have in the next room as the sharp, blunt sound of the slap reached his ears.

Arthur was such a bitter, violent drunk.

His hands pressed against Maria's head at a nearly painful pressure, and she clutched at his wrists, trying to make him let go, but he wouldn't. He wouldn't let her hear Alfred's screams, pleads for mercy, even though she's probably heard worse, _seen_ worse, at her own house.

He pressed his forehead against Maria's, trying to block out the sobs and stinging blows, but to no avail. Each blow that landed on Alfred seemed to land on him too, to Maria's eyes. The twins were linked through more than blood.

Bodies, minds and souls, they were as good as one.

Then Matthew screamed, tears splashing down his cheeks, but it was nothing compared to the inhuman shriek that seeped through the wall.

'Alfred, Alfred…' Matthew chanted as if it were a prayer. A prayer to keep his brother safe, and sane.

When Matthew stopped crying, he wordlessly stood and ran from the room, bursting into the next. Within moments, he was kneeling next to the broken body of his twin, lifting him easily.

Alfred was so _skinny_ right now.

Biting his lip, Matthew deposited Alfred on his bed next door, grateful that Maria wasn't so squeamish. Alfred was still _naked_ after all.

Matthew shed his shirt and lay next to Alfred, pressing their bodies together. If Alfred didn't stop shivering, he might just get even more ill than he is already, and the only true way for one nation to help another is to share _everything_, resources, land, treaties, bodies.

'I'm so sorry.' Matthew whispered, to Alfred and Maria. Oh he so desperately wanted to show Maria the stars tonight, she couldn't see them from the soviet house. It was so bright over there, and smoggy. Why did Arthur have to choose _tonight_ to come home? Why not tomorrow? Alfred was already a little ill to begin with. This is just going to knock him around even more.

He is kind of shocked when Maria lies on the other side of Alfred. She doesn't have to. She just does it.

'I don't have a family in the same sense that you do.' She murmurs. 'Not since Ivan's royal line was murdered. I haven't done this before. It's quite an experience, isn't it?' and then she smiles, and Matthew forgets how much trouble he's causing Maria right now. She's happy doing this, and that's all that matters to him.

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><p>Woot!~ Prologue.<p>

So, names are as follows (And I shall name everyone who is or has a chance of showing up);

England-Arthur Kirkland  
>America-Alfred F. Jones<br>Canada-Matthew Jones (Okay, so his real last name is actually 'Williams', but they're freaking TWINS, how could they have different last names?  
>Ukraine-Maria Braginski<br>Russia-Ivan (Vanya) Braginski (Vanya is the diminutive, or in other words, his 'nickname')  
>Belarus-Natalia Braginski<br>Switzerland-Basch Zwingli  
>Iceland-Emil Steilsson<br>Germany-Ludwig Beilschmidt  
>Prussia-Gilbert Beilschmidt<br>Japan-Kiku Honda  
>Greece-Hercules Karpusi<br>Turkey-Sadiq Adnan


	2. Instinct

**Chapter 1; Instinct**

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><p>*inserts teh lazies…* I can't be bothered writing out Ivan's sexy accent myself. You'll have to imagine it.<p>

Also, Ukraine's staying as Maria, mainly because I can't spell the fan dubbed name of her off the top of my head. Go check the Hetalia Wiki site, I have a right to call her Maria. =D

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><p>He still remembers the day the cold war was 'thawed'. Under Switzerland's withering glare, Russia agreed to destroy half of his stockpiled weapons. America was slightly more cheerful about this idea, and Turkey was happy to destroy the guns that America had left him, just as Cuba was glad to relinquish the guns that Russia, in turn forced upon him.<p>

For a while, under Iceland's all too watchful eye, Russia somehow managed to make things go back a little, tensions rose, but finally, with much urging on America's part, George W. Bush agreed to sign the treaty that put an end to the whole stupid thing.

He can remember that day for two major reasons. The first was that Germany _and_ Prussia were both crying. That wall that they had so carefully built to protect the West from the East had fallen, and the brothers were so happy.

The second? Well, that was slightly more complicated, America thought. And probably would've started the whole war up again if Ivan wasn't so… odd.

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><p>The hand on his shoulder was heavy and familiar. The last time he had felt it was when Ivan had that gun pressed to his temple. Oh how he remembered that, vivid, like it was happening right now. But Hercules and Sadiq couldn't get there in time! Not now. They were celebrating with Kiku.<p>

Whirling as quickly as his injuries would allow, Alfred turned to face his opponent, only to be met with lips as heavy as the hand that adorned his shoulder.

With a mumbled oath, Alfred whipped his hand up and slapped Ivan across the face as hard as he could.

Expecting harsher blows and taunting words to reply to this, he was stunned by a chuckle. He backpedalled, now warier than before. Arthur would've hit back, forced him to his knees and done whatever he felt was necessary to reprimand his charge.

'What do you want?' Alfred snapped, glaring at Ivan. 'You've already reduced me to this. Come to finish me off?'

The smile on Ivan's face doesn't leave, and Ivan just stepped forwards and took Alfred into his arms, as if to press the smaller man into his body. Now, Alfred had heard the phrase 'become one with Mother Russia,' but he honestly thought that it would never happen to him.

'The fuck?' Alfred swore, struggling against the iron arms around his body.

And then he felt the warmth, the sense of safety. Unbidden, his hands rose to Ivan's thick jacket and grasped the fabric tightly. He hadn't felt this safe since those times when Matthew found him after one of Arthur's episodes, and pooled his resources to stop him from giving up.

He clung to Russia's jacket as if it were a lifeline, holding him afloat in the vast sea of loneliness. He hadn't felt like this in a very long time. He was always alone, even when Matthew was around, especially when Arthur was around, even amongst those he called 'friend', he was alone.

It was like they had their circle of friends, allies, and he didn't ever quite fit in anywhere. That's the problem with being such a superpower. Everyone becomes afraid of you, except the people you are afraid of. And then, you never fit in.

Ivan doesn't let him go for a long time, all the while pouring sheer heat into Alfred, and slowly, Alfred comes to trust Ivan. And so, they go about their lives, but in a slightly new manner.

They were more than friends, but one could not call them lovers, because it never went that far. Never went past embarrassed and clumsy kisses, and fervent wishes for something more on Ivan's behalf. But he never did anything Alfred didn't want, never did anything except trace patterns across the sapphire-eyed nation's back, tracing scars that either he himself put there, or ones that he didn't quite understand, like the twin scars just above Alfred's heart, or the one on his shoulder. All he knew is that they had something to do with Kiku.

He never did anything that Alfred didn't want. Never deliberately. He was always careful. He never hurt Alfred if he could avoid it, but this... this was different.

Russia sat in the corner of the kitchen, looking at his hands. They seemed normal. Pale, ridiculously large, but not really fine, he didn't have piano hands, he just had big hands. They went with the rest of his body. The reason he was actually looking at them was because they were shaking.

He frowned and placed them on his knees. Maybe that would still them. But no, they kept jittering, and it was getting worse.

Out of the blue, his lungs convulsed and he started coughing, the fit drawing something from his lungs. Patting in his pocket for a tissue, he spat the glob out and stared at it as blankly as he'd been observing his hands moments before.

He must be getting ill. He decided. He winced when a lance of pain shot through his heart. Very, _very_ ill. Worse than what Alfred and Ludwig had been like during the Great Depression. As the common belief went, a nation suffered as much as its people. And Ivan was suffering.

He wasn't too bothered. If he mad himself some soup and had a good, stiff drink, then he'd be as right as rain.

He nodded to himself, pushing on his knees to stand up. When he was fully upright, a ringing noise became quite apparent in his ears, and he promptly blacked out.

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><p>'I'm home!' Alfred declared unnecessarily, dumping his jacket on the old foldout sofa in the back room. He stretched his arms above his head, being careful to pull them down enough to get thorough the doorway. He chuckled. At least he didn't have to duck his head like Ivan did.<p>

His chuckle died very quickly when he reached the kitchen, fully intending to make himself some coffee. Maybe Ivan would have some as well if he added some vodka.

Slowly, he crept around the kitchen table when he saw the trail of fabric on the floor, a river of cream cutting through the checkered linoleum floor.

The smile fell from his face altogether when he saw Ivan's prone body comically sprawled in the too small space. Under normal circumstances, he'd find this funny. Alfred's kitchen was rather small, and had little room around the centre table, and Ivan was taking up a fair bit of the floor space, his legs twined amongst the chair legs, but this was a very serious situation.

'Fine bloody time to take a nap, idiot. Now I have to lug you to the bedroom.' Sighing, Alfred crouched and wrapped his arms around Ivan's middle, heaving the far larger man over his shoulder. Carefully, Alfred carried the body of the former USSR to a safer resting place.

Ivan was rather unceremoniously dumped onto the mattress when Alfred reached his goal, and whilst Alfred had paid no heed to it earlier, now he noticed that Ivan was rather unresponsive right now.

'Ivan?' Alfred poked the larger blonde's shoulder through the thick stiff fabric of his coat. 'Russia? You okay?' Alfred took Ivan's shoulders in his hands and shook him roughly. 'Wake up! If you're playing games, I swear, I'll set Natalya on you!'

Ivan didn't wake, but his body started shaking.

'Shit.' Alfred growled. He knew what was happening. Ivan had been keeping quite about his problems, and now they had caught up with him. Russia was… _dying_, and here he was, the sole remaining superpower in the world, unable to think of any way to help him, when the answer should've been so _bloody obvious!_

'Ivan…' Alfred's voice on the second syllable, much the same way that Ivan's voice had broken on Alfred's name when Alfred had agreed to 'become one' with him. 'Don't die…' Alfred's hands grew slack in Ivan's coat and his body sagged, his head coming to rest over Ivan's heart. At least that was steady. He still had some time.

Maybe Ivan just had a weak body? He was so big after all, or maybe he had never been sick like this before? And everyone else was so healthy right now. It wasn't fair that Ivan was the only one to go under like this.

Alfred didn't know what drove him to unbutton Ivan's coat and the shirt underneath it and press himself to the other man's body. It must've been a little something that nations possess called instinct.

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><p>Pounding drums, deep, penetrating and never ending. He must have a hangover or something like that.<p>

When he notices that he's naked, and that there's a naked person as close as humanly, or nation-ly, possible next to him, he panics. He didn't remember this! He rarely forgets things when he's drunk, if he does get drunk at all, and it takes quite a bit of alcohol to get Ivan Braginski, Russia, the inventor of strong liquor, to get drunk.

_Now, _he thought, raising a hand to his head, absently noticing that it wasn't shaking, _what _do_ I remember?_ There had been the kitchen, and he had wanted soup, and a good drink, and there was something else. Something was _missing_ because he couldn't remember anything else.

'Oh, you're finally awake huh?' The bundle of human by his side stretched and groaned, displaying quite nice muscles under the scarred skin. 'Took you long enough. You're fever only broke last night and then I _finally_ got some sleep.' In a rather cat-like manner, the blonde man stretched and then cradled his head in his hands, propping his torso up on his elbows. 'I bet you're hungry, aren't you?' Alfred laughed when Ivan's stomach grumbled. 'You haven't eaten for days, and I'll take a guess that you hadn't eaten for days before that because you were so worried about your people.' Alfred laughed again, as if Ivan had been as silly as a young child. Then he became quite serious. 'Ivan, if you ever get into trouble like that again, you have to tell someone. Even if it's just Gilbert.'

Ivan looked away momentarily, blushing. His pride had gotten in the way. It was true, he had known that something was wrong in Russia, but he could handle it, if he didn't eat, then someone else could have his food, someone else could have his strength.

'Well then!' Alfred sprung to his feet, apparently oblivious to the fact that he was naked, and walked out of his bedroom, heading for the kitchen. 'Let's see…' Ivan could hear Alfred muttering. 'I'm sure I've got some pancake mix somewhere…'

Ivan lay back down with a thump. He still felt ill, but it wasn't too bad. He was probably just hungry, like Alfred said. Wrapping Alfred's American-flag-duvet around his shoulders, he followed Alfred's path from the bedroom to the kitchen, smiling softly when he noticed that Alfred was trying to read the back of the pancake-mix-bottle, _without_ his glasses.

'Dork.' He called, using a word he had actually picked up from the American. 'Come here.' He held one of his arms out, opening the blanket enticingly. Alfred caved and allowed Ivan to draw him into the warm envelope of the duvet. 'Here, I'll read it.' Ivan offered.

Alfred frowned. 'I can read it!' He held the pancake mix up, as if it would keep it from Ivan's grasp. Chuckling, Ivan peeled it from Alfred's fingers and scanned the back of the bottle.

'You just fill water up to the line.' Ivan looked down at Alfred, only to find that the younger man was dozing against his chest. Alfred must have lost many hours of sleep over him, and now he was going to lose another. Slowly and careful not to move Alfred, he placed the bottle of powder on the bench and turned his attention to the blonde.

Alfred was shocked into full awareness when Ivan's cold hands settled on the small of his back, a fistful of duvet in each hand, and Ivan's lips molded around Alfred's softly. Surprised, Alfred stepped back, and Ivan stepped with him.

'Can you not do that?' Alfred huffed, pouting.

'Nyet.' Russia murmured, pressing Alfred against the bench. _Today_. Ivan swore to himself. _Today he'd break though Alfred's wall of shyness, or whatever it is._ 'I can't help myself.' He pressed his lips to Alfred's again, nipping at the soft flesh. Now, how would he be able to achieve that?

He tightened his arms around Alfred and lifted him to the cold marble bench, disregarding the complaint that issued from the blonde. Ivan grinned against Alfred's lips. The blonde had to open his legs so they wouldn't get squished, and they were already naked, but still… he didn't want to hurt Alfred, and there was a chance of that unless Alfred had, oh he didn't know, a bottle of lube hidden in his cutlery draw.

Ivan was tempted to check, just in case.

Alfred had no qualms to opening his mouth to Ivan's insistent demands, nor any to Ivan's hands caressing his torso, absently tracing the scars. But he did mind when Ivan's hands wander below his navel.

Squirming away from the contact, an awkward sound breaks from Alfred's throat. 'I…'

Ivan sighs and places his hands on the bench and his head on Alfred's shoulder. At least he gave it a try, didn't he?

'I'm so sorry,' Alfred whispers, sliding out under Ivan's arm. Instinct driving him to flee.

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><p>He hid in his closet, which in retrospect was probably pretty stupid and obvious, seeing as he wasn't in the bathroom, but it was fairly spacy, being one of those walk-in wardrobes.<p>

He sat under what clothes Ivan kept at his house. A spare coat, some pants, a shirt that had a small syrup stain in the hem, a jumper or two and a pair of socks that were probably more hole than sock.

He was quite warm, even though the room was cold, wrapped in layers of clothing. He breath still came in ragged gasps, and his heart was still pounding like a horse's gallop. He thought that he could control it, the panic, the fear. _Ivan wasn't Arthur! _Ivan would never hurt him. That was the rational assumption, but no matter how he looked at it, he couldn't help it.

It wasn't like he didn't _want_ to do anything with Ivan, in contrary, he'd've happily let Ivan fuck him on the kitchen bench, if only to give him something to freak Matthew out with the next time his twin came over and cooked something, but still his heart raced in fear.

He could still remember what it had been like with Arthur, quite clearly. He had felt powerless, trapped, worthless, unable to move as Arthur used his body for his own means. And for crying out loud he was just a kid when it started!

Unbidden, tears welled up in his sapphire eyes, but he caught them on his fingers before they could fall.

Maybe Arthur's kind of love was the only he'd ever receive. Harsh, unforgiving, painful… Humiliating.

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><p>Yay! I didn't think i'd finish this tonight after all. It's nearly 2am for me, so for you all in America, be greatful. It's like, totally three hours past my bed-time.<p>

Sorry if there are mistakes. I don't have a beta. Just inbox me or REVIEW *hint hint* and I'll fix it. and please guys, if you don't review it, the next chapter won't go up. I can understand if you don't have an account or time or whatever, but even if it's just a 'cool story bro', I'm cool... except for the bro part. I'm a girl...

Sorry it's so dark. I promise that the next chapter will be a bit better, I mean, at least there shouldn't be any tears of anguish. Except from Canada. Because he's a wuss. Scratch that. i just remembered the plan. Dang. The chapter after will be better.

And by the way, when Ivan gets ill, I'm referring to when he tries to go capitalist, and the economy kinda takes a nose-dive. Excuse me for making America help him, but I'm rewriting history here, so outta my way! =D

Review, or Ivan will come and throttle you as if you were England and he found out what happened to Alfred when he was younger! (Because Maria has nothing to do with that at all =D)


	3. Forever and Ever, if I have to

Sorry, not much happens in this chapter, but it's kinda important, and squishy. Sorry if Ivan isn't really... Ivan. He will be sadistic and cruel if he actually gets into a serious conversation with someone other than Al...

Enjoy, and yes, Alfred disturbed Maria and Matthew during something ver uhh... important...

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><p><strong>Chapter 2;<strong>

When night fell, Alfred slowly peered out of the closet. He didn't really want to see Ivan, he was probably still mad, but that wasn't it really. He just didn't know how to put what he felt into words.

_Oh yeah, hi love, sorry about earlier, it's just that well, you know Arthur? My kind of adopted brother? No… You know England, right? Well, when I was a kid, he might of raped me, so sorry to put a damper on everything!_

No. That would not do.

He glanced across his bedroom, and when he saw Ivan dead asleep, sprawled across the bad, he breathed a silent sigh of relief.

He retrieved his glassed from the bedside table and quickly kissed Ivan's forehead before slipping out and into the kitchen. From there, he padded into the hallway, wincing when his weight shifted the floorboards enough to make them creak.

He managed to make it to the front door and outside without alerting Ivan, to his relief, and stopped for a long minute in the cool night air. Where was he going to go at this time of night?

The answer probably should've been really obvious, but naturally, his brain skipped over his twin brother. He wandered down the street, in and out of the pools of yellow light where the street lamps lit the sidewalk.

He stopped in one such pool of light and turned to look at the house he was standing outside of. He almost laughed.

'Well that's gotta be a bloody sign if anything.' He muttered to himself, pushing the whitewash gate open. As he walked down the brick path, he was vaguely aware of the knee-high stalks with two large leaves at the top of the stems that were lining the path.

He stopped and crouched at a certain plant. It was the one closest to the front porch and was slightly smaller than the rest. He smiled at it fondly, remembering how he had pushed the little black seed into the earth only last month. Plants grew so quickly.

He gazed at the immature sunflower for a moment longer before turning to the porch, reaching under the wooden boards for the spare key to Ivan's house.

When he put the key in the lock and turned it, he was met with unexpected resistance. Frowning at his own stupidity, he returned the key and opened the door. Of course it was already unlocked. Maria and Natalya still lived here, even if Ivan was at his house.

He crept inside and nearly jumped out of his skin when a knife thudded into the doorframe, millimetres from his head.

'Holy _shit!_' he exclaimed.

'Oh.' A quiet voice filled the void that his voice had left. Alfred froze. He knew that voice, and it was probably not the best time to run into Natalya. 'It's only you.' Natalya strode over and yanked the chef's knife from the wooden frame, balancing the blade on the tip of her finger. 'How is brother? I hope you are taking care of him.' She observed him through her pale eyes, which reminded him so much of her brother's.

'Oh, yes!' Alfred squeaked, hoping that Natalya wouldn't find reason to stick that knife in his throat. It wouldn't kill him, but it'd hurt like a _bitch_. 'He's fine! Ahh, y'know I kinda need to talk to Maria so if you'll excuse me…' He skimmed around her and her dress, (what was she? Ivan's _maid_?), and that knife, before taking the stairs three at a time.

'I wouldn't go into Maria's room if I were you.' Natalya called, Alfred paid no heed to her words, or maybe he just didn't hear them.

He fortunately had the sense to knock and wait for an answer.

'Uhh, coming!' Maria called. Alfred hardly noticed how her voice was slightly strained. He was too preoccupied with what he'd talk to her about.

When she opened the door, it was easy to say that she was in a state of disarray. 'Alfred!' She squeaked. 'To what do I owe the uhh… pleasure?' She didn't use English so often, and so had to think of the correct word to use.

'Can I come in?' He asked softly. Maria, who was considering refusing on the grounds that she was only clad in a thin white sheet, saw that he seemed rather upset, and that his eyes were still puffy around the edges.

'Sure,' she smiled at the man who all too resembled her boyfriend, 'come in. Just uhh, give me a minute to clothe myself.'

She shut the door behind him and scurried off to the adjourning bathroom, catching her overalls on one of her feet.

'Oh shit.' Someone murmured from the general direction of the bed. Alfred turned to see who had spoken and nearly had a heart attack.

'Shit, Mattie, don't do tha… are you _naked_?'

Matthew straightened up, sitting cross-legged, clutching a pillow in his lap. 'I might just be… on the other hand, why the hell are you here?'

Alfred bit his lip, so hard that he could taste the metallic tang of blood on his tongue. Slowly, his will caved as he remembered everything that bought him to this and he launched himself at Matthew, flinging his arms around his twin's waist.

'Can't… breathe!' Matthew wheezed, trying to pry Alfred's hands loose.

'I'm so sorry,' Alfred whispered, pressing his face into Matthew's neck.

'Slow down!' Matthew exclaimed, wriggling away from his twin. 'I need clothes!'

'Uhh yeah…'

Five minutes later, Alfred was sitting in the kitchen, a cup of tea in his hands. He sipped at it anyway; he was thinking too much to complain. Something nudged at his legs. Probably Kumajiro.

'So go from the beginning,' Matthew sighed, 'talking at fifty words a second doesn't help.'

'I…' Alfred swallowed. If he didn't let his words slur together then he'd stop talking, and he had to admit, he needed to talk. He knew that his aversion to sex would eventually drive him and Ivan apart. It was unavoidable, but he just couldn't help it. He froze up, panicked, every time it went that way.

'I'm being stupid.' He finally said.

'Totally,' Matthew agreed.

'It's completely irrational, Ivan isn't Arthur!'

'No he isn't,' Maria placed her hands on Alfred's shoulders, 'Ivan is still young, he could not understand what has happened.'

'He cares for you very much,' a wintery voice added, 'you are very lucky to have him.' Alfred looked up from his tea, looked up at Natalya. Slowly, his face reddened. Natalya didn't often say such things. Humbled, he thanked her.

'You have to explain to him!' Matthew urged. 'He has a right to know!'

'I can't!' Alfred exploded, his hands crashing onto the table violently. 'He'll kill England! England can't die or everyone goes under!'

Maria chuckled, sounding oddly like her brother. 'He may be cruel sometimes, even if he doesn't realise it, but he's not an idiot.' She sat next to Matthew, placing her hand over his, giving it a gentle squeeze. 'His situation's precarious enough as it is, isn't it? And don't give me any of that bull shit about how he's perfectly fine. I can feel it. Look at yourself for a change. I know he nearly died just recently, and that you saved him, I can see the fatigue in your face.' She spoke slowly, stumbling over some words, but got through her speech.

At this reminder, Alfred dissolved into tears once again. He didn't want to think about losing Ivan again. Those three days before the platinum-blonde nation's fever broke had been so frightening with Ivan hovering so close to death.

Matthew looked at his twin in shock. Normally he was so strong. What had happened to him? And those tears. They weren't the tears of the frightened and broken child that Matthew and Maria had kept alive all those years ago, these were the tears of a terrified and demolished nation. The tears of an adult.

And that was what scared Matthew the most.

Whilst what Alfred had said about Arthur going under was true and all, if England as he knew it died, then there would still be many countries, himself included, who would continue to thrive and grow. However if Alfred, America, the sole remaining superpower, gave up and died…

He shuddered.

All hell would break loose. Anyone could see that Alfred was what was keeping the world afloat. If he gave up, everyone would lose hope, Ivan would lose it entirely and there'd be an enormous power struggle and whilst Wang-Yao had backed down recently, Matthew could feel that he was getting stronger and stronger with each passing day, the only thing keeping him in check was Kiku.

'You don't have to tell him now, Alfred.' Matthew found himself saying. 'If you want, I can talk to Arthur, make him apologise.'

Alfred shook his head, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. 'I don't need that. I need what he took from me.' Alfred bit his lip. He needed Arthur humiliated as badly as he was.

'Come on then.' Maria said when Alfred yawned. 'I think we should all go to bed, da?'

Alfred nodded obediently and allowed Matthew to lead him upstairs, to Ivan's bedroom. If Ivan was going to sleep in his bed, then he might as well use Ivan's bed. Well, that was the rationalisation.

* * *

><p>Ivan didn't expect Alfred to be in bed with him when he woke up, but that didn't stop him from being disappointed about it. He decided to check the spare rooms for Alfred, just in case he had hidden in there, and when he saw neither hide nor hair of the American, he gave up with a sigh and headed to Alfred's bathroom to have a shower.<p>

Whilst Alfred's shower warmed up, he took the opportunity to have a poke around in the bathroom, out of sheer curiosity of course. People hid odd things in a bathroom.

However, he was sorely disappointed, only finding a stack of towels some toiletries such as soap and a toothbrush. Nothing interesting but a necklace. He had one identical to it. It was just old memorabilia, a symbol of their pact as the Allied Nations.

By that time the shower was warm, and he gratefully shed his clothes and stooped under the warm water, allowing it to wash away the last dregs of his illness.

He took some time to consider where Alfred might have gone. He was not so forgetful, and considered that he might be at Matthew's house, but then he also remembered that Matthew was at his own house doing God knows what with his sister. He shuddered. He didn't need to think about that.

Maybe Francis' house? No, he'd run a risk of getting molested over there, and if anyone knew how averse to _that_ Alfred was, then it was Ivan.

He was probably at Arthur's house then. He swore. Arthur lived so far away!

* * *

><p>'You what?' Arthur snapped when Ivan explained the situation. 'How the fuck do you lose that bloody idiot?' Ivan kind of wanted to punch Arthur it the face right about… <em>now<em>. Arthur was _not_ a morning person.

Grimly, he put on his old mask, a supposed cheerful smile that scared people more than it comforted them, and found it satisfying to see Arthur turn pale. Very_, very_ pale. 'I was just wondering if Alfred was here.' He repeated, but in a slower, more cheerful voice. This seemed to terrify Arthur beyond belief. 'He went… out last night to sort out something and I am very worried about him.'

''Course you'd be worried.' Arthur grumbled, backing away. 'You're fucking him, aren't you…' Ivan could've swore he heard an added 'lucky bastard' in there as well. Resisting the urge to knock the Brit to the floor, and turned away and strode briskly down the path. As he walked, allowing his legs to take him wherever they wished, he thought about what Arthur had said, or rather, hadn't said.

Why did Arthur sound sad, regretful and even angry? What had he done that he was remorseful about?

And damn, Ivan really needed a drink. He might actually have some blood in his alcohol stream.

Ivan decided to give no more thought to the matter of Arthur's behaviour for two reasons. One, he had too little information right now, and two; he was standing face to face with a very familiar door.

'I give up.' He grumbled, letting himself in. He was immediately accosted by Natalya, but that was kind of expected.

'Good to see you home, brother.' She smiled up at him. 'Good to see that you are safe. Also, you wouldn't want to marry me, would you?' Before Ivan had a chance to reply, she sighed, 'I didn't expect you to say yes.' She turned and made for the kitchen. 'By the way, your boyfriend's asleep in your bed.'

At these words, Ivan perked up somewhat. What he really needed was not a drink, but someone to cuddle up to.

He passed Toris on the stairs, the brunette dropping the book he was holding, but he disregarded this and slid to a stop at his bedroom door.

Quietly, he slipped inside and made for the bed, seeing that Natalya hadn't been lying and there was indeed a certain blonde on his bed.

He sat on the edge of the mattress, simply observing Alfred. He was wearing what looked like Matthew's jumper, and a pair of cotton boxers, and had himself wrapped around Ivan's pillow, squeezing it so tightly that Ivan was surprised that it hadn't burst open yet.

And then Ivan realised that Alfred wasn't actually asleep.

Alfred's body was wracked with sobs, violent and piercing. Ivan winced. It was his fault that Alfred was like this. He bit his lip, not really knowing what to do. How do you comfort a person when you're not really sure what the problem is?

He sat like that for a while, as if suspended between times. Nothing changed, the clock kept ticking on the wall, and Alfred kept sobbing. Eventually, something had to change. Everything changes eventually.

Alfred sniffed and Ivan felt him move and then felt shaky arms around his waist. 'You're not mad, are you?' He asked, his voice as unstable as his arms.

'Nyet.' Ivan assured him, stroking the soft blonde hair. 'I promise, I'll wait for as long as you need to.'

* * *

><p>Review please! I don't like asking for it, but it seems to be the only way that people will review it D= I hope you like it, and sorry, next chapter is going to be awful and I feel like shit for what I'm going to do, but I have to otherwise nothing can happen because Alfred won't tell Ivan, and Matthew doesn't have good cause to tell Ivan =( I'm so sorry!<p> 


	4. Bad Blood

****Chapter 3; Bad blood****

**My thoughts; **I think this is going to be the worst chapter, as far as Alfred's existence goes… *is shot*

**Warnings/other stuff; **I don't own Hetalia, if I did *nosebleeds* I'd have a massive collab with Shadow-chan, who is a kick-ass writer by the way, and I know she's reading this and I'm going off on a tangent I swear I need pills for ADHD or something. Includes sex of some variety, not very descriptive. Bad Lispet, Bad! Non-con, dub-con (If you squint really hard) and rape. Yep, I said the R-word =D

I must say, not much Rus/Ame yet. But I'm getting to it, and no, Ivan's not a raving lunatic. He has some edges of unstableness and shit, but honestly, I don't like him stark-raving mad. Sadistic!Russia is hot, but I should shut up now.

* * *

><p>If Ivan was worried about Alfred's unusual lack of speech, Alfred didn't notice at all. In fact, he was too busy thinking. And of course, his moodiness also bought Matthew down as well.<p>

'Alfred!' Matthew had finally had enough, 'just go and tell him to apologise. My head hurts!'

'I can't just _do_ that. You know how much it hurt us, and don't even think about saying you're too awesome to have felt it.' Alfred quivered, glad that Ivan wasn't there, having to deal with some paperwork or whatever. 'It was so painful.' He whispered.

'We were too young.' Matthew looped his arms around Alfred's body, 'we didn't know what to do. It's not your fault, so stop beating yourself up about it.'

Alfred nodded. He knew that by dwelling on it, he was hurting Matthew as much as he was paining himself. Suddenly, Matthew's mind cleared and he sighed in relief before grimacing.

'Beat… up…' Alfred said slowly, pushing himself to his feet.

'Alfred don't. It's not worth it!' Matthew grabbed Alfred's arm only to be shaken free.

'I know you felt each blow with me, but you're not the one who lost everything to that monarchal bitch!' Alfred snarled, his mind already set on what he was going to do.

'I can't stop you,' Matthew said, looking his brother in the eye, soft purple meeting sapphire blue, 'just be careful. If anything happens, I'll be too far away to know before it's too late.'

Alfred rolled his eyes and Matthew gave a small smile. Alfred seemed to be a little bit back to normal. 'I'll _try_.'

'Love you too.' Matthew chuckled.

* * *

><p>Arthur winced as someone assaulted his door with their fist. It was too bloody early to have visitors. <em>Oh, if it's that bloody frog,<em> Arthur swore to himself, _he's going to die._

Arthur wrenched the door open, his eyebrows practically meeting in the severity of his glare, only to have the fist that was about to knock on his door hit his chest instead.

Alfred's mouth formed a small 'o' as he laid eyes on his former guardian. Maybe he wasn't ready to confront him after all. 'England!' He tried smiling, but failed miserably. Said nation frowned even more before his expression relaxed slightly.

'What do you want?' he snapped, not really relieved that it was Alfred. He sort of wanted to punch Francis and then jump him. Maybe he could jump Alfred instead.

'We need to talk.' Alfred ground out, trying to sound severe. Too bad his voice came out as a half-frightened squeak. He nearly punched himself in the head. Heroes needed to sound strong, not like mice! Grow up America, its just Arthur!

'What about?' Arthur asked curiously, unable to think of anything that he'd done recently to pique Alfred's anger this much. Nor could he think of why Alfred might be so frightened.

'Everything.' Alfred grumbled, pushing past Arthur. What Alfred needed Arthur to do was admit that he was wrong, and apologise, in a way. But Alfred knew that the only way he could achieve that was to get Arthur drunk, otherwise Arthur's pride would get in the way. It wasn't too difficult. He just accepted the tea that Arthur offered him, much to his former carer's surprise and then slipped some vodka into Arthur's own over-sweetened cup when he wasn't looking.

By the time he had finished the cup, Arthur seemed fairly pissed. But Alfred didn't realise that this was probably not the best thing to do until it was too late.

'So why did you come here again?' Arthur snapped grouchily, grabbing Alfred by the wrist and dragging him out of his seat and over to the bench next to his sink.

It was probably about then that Alfred suddenly remembered that Arthur was not the same person when drunk. At all. Sure, he may become loose lipped, but he also lost all gentlemanly thoughts whatsoever, and slipped into his old life. A life of piracy.

And England had been so much stronger as a pirate.

Alfred struggled futilely against Arthur's grip, only to have Arthur turn and catch his throat in a hand, squeezing tightly. Alfred wheezed and floundered in Arthur's grasp and Arthur picked the taller blonde up, dropping him heavily on the marble bench.

'Cut it out.' Arthur barked, slapping Alfred's hand down harshly when Alfred tried to push Arthur away. 'You seem to have forgotten your place, _colony_.'

_Holy shit._ Alfred thought. Arthur thought he was a colony again, thought he was younger, and still his. _Nononononono! _Alfred squeezed his eyes shut and kicked his legs against Arthur's hips, shoving himself backwards as far as he could. Which was exactly 31 centimetres before his head hit the overhanging light.

It hit him in the back of the head right then, along with the light, that Arthur was going to rape him, and that there was nothing he could do about it.

That didn't stop him fighting.

Arthur's hand smacked across Alfred's cheek, throwing the blonde's head to the side violently and Alfred froze. Out of everything that Arthur had done to him, he had never backhanded him before.

Arthur took advantage of Alfred's momentary lapse of movement to take his belt off and tie Alfred's arms together at the elbow, restricting movement.

In a display of strength that Arthur could probably not achieve sober, he somehow lifted Alfred again and yanked the American's pants off roughly. It took him a little longer to undo his jeans though.

Alfred did his best to ignore Arthur, curling his consciousness up into itself, an old trick that almost worked but _ohshitNO!_

Arthur shoved two fingers into Alfred's mouth, and two more on his other hand into his ass, disregarding the blood that trickled down his digits.

Alfred instinctively gagged and bit down on Arthur's fingers when they went too far down his throat, wishing that he could do more, wishing that he wasn't so scared, or that it wasn't so ingrained in him to not defy his former guardian. A thumb tightly pressing into his cheek, painfully forcing him to open his mouth again, and another finger in his ass rewarded his bite.

Panicking just a little more than he was before, Alfred's breaths started coming in ragged gasps, and he felt his chest close up in what was unmistakably the beginnings of a panic attack.

'That should be enough.' Alfred was vaguely aware of Arth – no, _England_'s voice – he didn't deserve a human name anymore in Alfred's mind – in the background, and then there was nothing in his body. Maybe Arthur was done, satisfied? That was unlikely, but he wasn't going to not hope about it.

His hopes were shot down when Arthur grabbed his shoulder and yanked, forcing Alfred to his feet and gave him a shove, leaving Alfred prone, with his ass presented to Arthur just perfectly.

Arthur grinned and fisted his cock quickly to guide it into place before snapping his hips forward, invading Alfred's land once again.

Laying himself down on Alfred's back, Arthur put his lips near the American's ear, listening to and feeling Alfred's harsh breaths, close to hyperventilation. Arthur liked this for some reason. It bought out some sadistic side to him that he never knew he had. Reaching up, he wound his fingers in Alfred's hair tightly, pulling the blonde's head back painfully. The American tried to turn his head away, trying to hide the shame, the tears.

'You do this with Russia, don't you?' Arthur asked, baring his teeth in a wicked grin. 'Do you let him hit you like I do? Does he force himself upon you, _use_ you?' Arthur pulled his hips back and slammed back into Alfred again. Alfred's breath hitched in a sob and Arthur dropped his former colony back onto the marble bench. Weakly, Alfred shook his head once.

No, he didn't do anything with Ivan. He didn't do anything because every time they got even close he froze up, panicked, freaked out, became hysterical. Name it and it probably happened.

Ruthlessly, Arthur used America's beautiful body, each thrust causing Alfred's hips to crack agonisingly against the corner of the bench whilst Alfred could do nothing but clench his hands into fists so tight that his nails dug into his palms, and lean his head against the cool bench, hoping to numb his brain into oblivion.

For Alfred, it could have been an eternity until Arthur had finished, or maybe it was only a couple of minutes, but his mind kept replaying it all, over and over and over and… He sobbed, curling into a ball beside Arthur's drunkenly unconscious form. This wasn't what he'd planned, he thought, pressing his hands to his face, focusing on the pain in his hands where his nails had sliced through the skin to stave off memories, both fresh and centuries old.

It was like his mind was punishing him for going against what Matthew had said. Had he been careful? No.

He groaned pitifully and pulled his pants back on, hoping that their cold warmth would help him feel safe and protected. It failed, miserably, but at least when he stopped shaking he'd be able to leave quickly. He didn't want to stay here any more. He didn't want to see this house again. Ever.

Scrambling to his feet and away from the Englishman, Alfred glanced down and the memories hit him like a solid kick to the gut.

* * *

><p><em>He hurt, and not in the good kind of I just achieved something awesome, but now I'm sore because I fucked up a few times, he hurt in a bad way. A very, <em>very_, bad way._

_Tears stained his cheeks, but he was well used to this. He could remember how people stop to stare at England taking him places. It must look bad when you look nine or ten, and your carer looks barely out of his teens. Oh how those people would stop and stare now. It was much worse now that he was on his knees, with said guardian fucking his mouth._

_He well knew not to bite; he had accidentally clamped his mouth shut the first time Arthur's cock had hit the back of his throat, purely out of instinct, but it had resulted in his hair being painfully yanked, and that thumb in his cheek, digging into painful nerves._

_He had nowhere to run either, he was backed up against a tree whilst Arthur fisted his hands in the straw-blonde locks below him, the back of Alfred's head hitting the rough pine bark with each thrust._

_He wished that Arthur would just come already so Alfred could curl up and nurse his injuries._

* * *

><p>Another memory, a different time.<p>

* * *

><p><em>He had always wondered if it was uncomfortable to be in a set of stocks. He kept them for the worst of his criminals, murderers, thieves, rapists, so they could feel the humiliation they forced upon others. Shame he couldn't shove England in them. Shame <em>he_ was stuck in them._

_He wished that he could reach his hand so he could bite it and keep in the screams. He didn't want to seem weak, not now. If he was just silent… kept from Arthur what the Brit really wanted… he'd be free quicker, Arthur would lose interest._

_He couldn't help but scream though. It all hurt so much. Each time Arthur hit him, or moved, he'd jump or be jolted and his bony shoulders would crack against the wood of the stocks, not to mention that his ass was bleeding and his whole body just _hurt_ because England just wanted some fun and a fuck._

_Why did it always have to be him?_

_The pain was no longer just a hurt, it was a sting as well, and Alfred nearly sighed in relief, nearly being the key word, for it meant that Arthur had finally come and he would be left alone finally._

* * *

><p>Raising his foot with full intentions to kick Arthur in the ribs for everything he did, he looked down again and found himself unable to do it.<p>

Tears welling up again, this time at his own weakness rather than in humiliation and pain, he turned on his heel and left the house as quickly as he could without tripping over his own feet.

He took the long way home in order to give himself time to compose his façade, but the moment Matthew opened the door that he had knocked on he broke down into a brother-tackling-ball-of-tears-and-mush.

'Whoa there,' Matthew hugged Alfred back, kicking the door shut behind them, 'you look like shit.' In response, Alfred squeezed his arms tighter and pressed his face into Matthew's jumper.

Canada rolled his eyes, he was kind of expecting this. He wondered what Arthur had done, and looked over Alfred's shoulder at Maria, who was standing in the kitchen doorway, watching them with wide, sad eyes. _Call Russia._ He mouthed to her, watching her twirl and disappear into the kitchen with satisfaction. Oh he was so damn lucky to be dating her. She was perfect. He tightened his arms around Alfred before letting him go. If Alfred hadn't shown up though, he'd be even luckier.

He bit his lip. It wouldn't do to moan unexpectedly at the random, stupid memories that flooded his mind with images and his groin with tingly sparks. 'You wanna tell me what happened?' Matthew asked kindly, unable to muster the strength to be angry with his twin. Alfred didn't answer, didn't move, and suddenly, he went limp, and Matthew dropped him.

* * *

><p>Ooh, what happened to Al, and what will Russia do in response? Review or +fave this and you'll find out soon (But maybe not soon because I have to write the next chapter first, but reviews make Lispet work faster.) They are my drugs... next to sexy YaoiYuri/Het and actual drugs of course (But I don't do drugs, just painkillers and hormone-y shit because I'm f'ed up big time). But Reviews are nice! Very veery~ nice. Also I'll do requests if people want... just tell me what has to happen and you'll probably get a smut in response!~ (but if you don't want that then you'll have to be very clear about that because I can find loopholes everywhere =])


	5. Revenge is best served cold

**Chapter 4; Revenge is best served cold**

**Warnings;** Hmm, torture, bondage, Iggy naked... nothing unusual for my mind. And sorry guys, but it is called PWP for a reason, it's just that in this case, there is a slight build up because I have to make Alfred feel better and shit and it's not easy to put all of this in a oneshot...

And Yeah, you read correctly, Ivan worries about something~  
>And I must say, for my first torture scene seeing as I was limited in what I could do, it's not too bad, but I know I can do better. I wanted to make Arthur bleed, but Alfred wouldn't let me TTATT<p>

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><p>Matthew panicked the moment his twin slipped from his grip. His eyes went wide as he watched Alfred's face grow slack, and his expression went peaceful. 'Oh my…' He slipped to the floor with the American, his heart rising in his throat. That was a bad feeling, very, very bad. And then, like a slap to the face, America's memories caught up with him, kind of.<p>

They had been so far away, and damnit! He couldn't get into them properly! Alfred was deliberately hiding something from him! But… Alfred had been in pain, that much was clear.

Growling incoherently, he pressed his forehead to his twin's, hoping to glean more, so he'd know how to put it right, but he ran smack into a brick like wall within Alfred's mind.

It was then that he knew that Alfred, the nation, the superpower, the United States of _fucking_ _America_, had given up.

'No don't!' he whispered harshly. What would he tell Ivan? Oh he was so dead! 'Don't die,' he breathed into Alfred's ear, 'you can't, you have to come back, comebackcomebackcomeback!' by the end he was screaming, his arms so tight around Alfred that he wasn't really sure how he'd let go, or if he'd ever want to. Maybe if he tried, he could force their bodies together, force Alfred back to life, even if he vanished. No one would really miss him, except Maria maybe.

He was barely aware of Maria when she crouched next to him, and somehow, managed to pick the twins up. 'Come on, you can't stay here.' Trust her to keep her head in a crisis, but then again, it wasn't her brother who just wanted to die.

They must've been put on a bed, because hen Maria let them down, it was all soft and warm. 'I'm going to…' Maria huffed. 'Matthew, get a grip!' Matthew gasped when a stinging blow landed on his cheek. 'Oh, shit…' She muttered, 'sorry! You were being silly and… I didn't mean to hurt you!' Maria wailed, wrapping her arms around Matthew's shoulders, kissing his cheek.

'It's fine.' Matthew nodded, slightly more himself and in control. 'You were right to do that.'

'Anyway, I'm going to make some soup and oh, have you even checked if he's actually alive?' Maria frowned at her boyfriend in a rather stern manner.

'No,' Matthew squeaked, he didn't really need to; he could feel Alfred's life ebbing away inside him. If Mexico were here, she'd be able to feel it as well. But it would make Maria feel better, so he slowly detached himself from Alfred and felt around his neck for a pulse. 'Here,' he murmured. 'He's alive,' Maria didn't leave until she felt satisfied that that was indeed Alfred's pulse, rather than Matthew imagining things. 'Ivan will be here soon.' She added.

Matthew nodded and pressed his forehead back to Alfred's. He had to find out what was wrong, or better, wake Alfred so the stupid idiot could tell them himself!

Matthew was so preoccupied on racking Alfred's brain for information that he completely missed Ivan until the large Russian picked him up and dropped him off the side of the bed.

'The fuck?' Matthew shouted.

'Shut up,' Ivan growled, sitting next to Alfred before pulling his limp form into his arms. 'Alfred?' Ivan's demeanor changed completely. 'Hey, wake up, come on,' Ivan shook the American gently, careful not to hurt him. 'Al?' He shot a furtive look around the room, 'I… I'm worried now Alfred…' He seemed embarrassed to admit this, but at least Alfred wasn't awake to rib him about it.

'That ought to shock you awake, blondie!' Maria exclaimed, arriving with promised bowl of soup. 'Ivan, worried!' She chuckled.

Ivan ignored her, 'Alfred, come on, Vanya's worried now. Just… wake up.' He bent down, so he was nose to nose with the American. If Alfred's eyes were open, he'd be staring straight into those beautiful sapphires, but instead he sadly watched as Alfred's eyes flickered underneath his eyelids.

* * *

><p>The moment he collapsed into Matthew's arms, Alfred gave up hold on the world. He gratefully pitched into welcoming numbing oblivion. He didn't have to think, didn't have to move, or talk, or deal with anything.<p>

He could feel Matthew's mind pressed up against his own, in that bond that no one could explain. He pushed Matthew away, concentrating on the blackness. If he didn't think, he wouldn't feel and the nation known as America would go into stasis. It wouldn't crash, but it wouldn't flourish either.

Nothing penetrated his hazy unconsciousness for a while, he wondered how long he had been out for. Did people miss him? Was anyone worrying?

At that thought, a voice got through.

'… worried now…' the blackness seemed to become less… numbing. He knew that voice, Ivan was worried. Of course he would be.

'Alfred…' he struggled through the marsh that was once his sanctum, now his prison, towards the voice. He'd go anywhere for that voice. 'Vanya's worried now.'

Alfred snapped his eyes open, sitting up so quickly that Ivan didn't have time to move out of the way, and Alfred's lips crashed into his.

Ivan was all too enthusiastic, and pushed Alfred back into his lap, curling his torso to deepen the kiss further. Nipping at Alfred's lip, Ivan slid his tongue behind Alfred's teeth, coaxing more than mere consciousness. Alfred whimpered openly, slipping his arms around the back of the Russian's neck.

Ivan detached Alfred and sat up. 'You're a first class idiot, next to Feliciano, of course.' Ivan clipped Alfred upside the head before pulling the blonde into a hug. He paused. Something was wrong. 'Why are you crying, Alfred?'

Alfred lifted his eyes and met Ivan's fiery purple gaze. 'I… I…' Like a movie actress, Alfred's tears doubled, and Ivan listened in horror as Alfred told him everything.

Whilst Alfred's memories bought out that sadistic side of him that he had thought was long gone and buried, he just wanted Alfred to stop talking so that he wouldn't have a reason to completely mutilate Arthur's body as well as just kill him.

'Enough!' He finally growled, Alfred had only mentioned a handful of instances where Arthur had raped, beaten or otherwise humiliated the far younger American. No wonder Alfred had always shied away from him, from anyone.

At the sound of Ivan's voice, Alfred shut up, as if snapped out of a trance, and then, just as quickly, he began talking again. 'I'm so sorry! I shouldn't've gone to talk to him today!'

'What?' Ivan clamped his hand over Alfred's mouth. He turned to Matthew and Maria, who were sitting on the floor, Maria's head on the Canadian's shoulder. 'Did you know about this?' Matthew opened his eyes and swore that his heart stopped when he saw that pure murder radiating from Ivan.

'Which p-part?' Matthew squeaked.

'Any of it!' Ivan roared. All other occupants of the room winced at the force of his shout.

'M-Maria and I knew it all. From the start.'

'Ivan, we were kids.' Maria was firmer, unfazed by her brother's bloodlust seeing as it wasn't directed at her. If it was, he wouldn't be holding it in check and they'd all be crushed. 'We could do nothing. He was so much stronger than us.' She spoke a few more words in what seemed like Russian, and Ivan scowled.

'Fine.' Ivan forced himself to speak in English. It made him focus on happy things, like sunflowers and vodka. 'I will go to that… that _ublyudok,_' he had to resort to his own language for the insult, 'and I will… talk with him.'

'Don't hurt him!' Alfred cried. 'He was always drunk, he…'

'It's is okay. I won't hurt him.' Ivan said, stroking Alfred's hair once before standing. He wasn't going to hurt England… _much_.

'Vanya!' Alfred grabbed Ivan's sleeve. 'Promise.' Ivan looked down, into Alfred's sapphire eyes, and found himself unable to say no.

'I promise, lyubov, I will not hurt him.'

As he walked out the front door, he slipped his lead pipe underneath his coat.

* * *

><p>'What is it?' Ivan heard Arthur grumble. 'The day of let's all visit England?' The door swung open and Arthur tried to slam the door shut when he saw, or rather felt, Ivan's presence.<p>

'You and I have something to talk about, _da_?' Ivan forced the door back open and caught Arthur by the collar, lifting him up to Ivan's height with ease.

Arthur spluttered something unintelligible, and Ivan leant close to him, soaking up the fear in Arthur's eyes. 'I will break you for breaking Alfred.' He promised, throwing Arthur over his shoulder. 'How nice!' Ivan crowed upon entering the Englishman's kitchen. 'Your table is perfect!' He dumped Arthur on his back on the middle of the table before removing his coat. 'If you move, you will regret it.' Russia folded his coat up and placed it on the bench, his scarf following it. Lastly, he tapped the faucet of his pipe on Arthur's stomach twice, his smile growing when Arthur tried shuffling away, only to freeze when he ran out of table. Ivan placed the pipe too, on the bench.

'I will be back. For your safety, stay there.' Ivan ducked out of the room and ran down the steps to Arthur's basement. In the overly organised garage, he found a coil of rope, some rags and duct tape. Perfect. 'Look what I found!' He held his spoils up for Arthur to see when he got back into the well-lit kitchen.

Pulling a knife from the knife block, Ivan began cutting lengths of rope, laying them across Arthur's stomach. 'Now,' Ivan gathered the ropes into one hand, 'before I begin, I would like to give you the opportunity to remove your clothes, or I shall do it for you.' Ivan smiled again, and Arthur's eyes widened.

'No.' He refused bluntly.

'I gave you a chance, at least.' Ivan sighed, picking the knife up again. He grabbed Arthur's collar and bought the knife up to Arthur's throat, gently sliding the blade across his racing pulse. Grinning, he sliced through each button, pausing to hear them clatter to the floor, one by one. When each button was gone, Ivan ripped the shirt off the Brit's back before motioning to Arthur's pants. Seeing that Ivan was serious, Arthur shakily undid his pants and kicked them off.

'Thank you, England.' Ivan smiled childishly, placing his hand on Arthur's shoulder. 'Or should I call you Arthur?' His grin widened as he shoved Arthur backwards, so he was lying down again. 'Be a good boy and hold still.' Ivan picked up one of the ropes and wrapped it around Arthur's leg a few times, before tying it to one of the table's legs. Each of Arthur's limbs received a similar treatment. 'That doesn't hurt, does it?' Ivan asked. He wasn't about to break his promise to Alfred, even if he did want to. Too scared to say otherwise, Arthur shook his head. 'Good.' Ivan reached into his pocket, withdrawing the oily rags he'd found. 'Because you won't be able to complain about it again.'

Arthur twisted his head away to avoid ending up with a mouthful of rag, and then clenched his teeth shut. Ivan wrapped his hand around Arthur's head and pressed his thumb into the Englishman's cheek, forcing his mouth open. 'You did that to Alfred, didn't you?' Ivan's eyes glinted, and Arthur gagged on the cloth. 'Breathe through your nose. I'll bet you never told Alfred to do that.' He grabbed Arthur by the hair, forcing him to bare his throat. 'I wonder how many times you raped him. Could I cut you for each time you did it? Or would you die from blood loss first?' Ivan raised the knife and Arthur struggled against his bindings, but because he was spread-eagled, he could do nothing.

Ivan fished around for another of the rags, and lifted Arthur's head, blindfolding him carefully. Arthur whimpered past the gag when he lost his sight. 'How does it feel to be helpless?' Ivan whispered. He let out a giggle. Oh he loved to have such power! Arthur flinched when Ivan giggled manically. He fetched the duct tape and cut off a strip to put over Arthur's mouth, to ensure that he couldn't spit the rag out, and then two more pieces to cover Arthur's ears with. He would still hear things, but they would be muted, heightening the effect of isolation.

Ivan picked up his pipe, and placed it by Arthur's side with a lough clang. He would have use for that later, but for now… He picked the knife up again and reached for Arthur's knife-sharpener. Peeling one of the pieces of duct-tape from Arthur's ears, he started sharpening the knife he was borrowing. Ivan watched with satisfaction when Arthur squirmed at the sound. It was never nice to know that someone had a very sharp knife bare inches from your skin. Ivan knew this from experience.

Placing the knife to Arthur's skin, he lightly drew lazy circles on his stomach. 'Did you ever cut Alfred?' Ivan asked, bringing the knife to a halt on England's left shoulder, the tip of the blade pressed down, denting into Arthur's skin.

Hesitantly, Arthur nodded.

'How many times?' Ivan pressed the knife harder. Ivan ripped the gag off Arthur's mouth before yanking the oily rags form his mouth. Arthur's brow scrunched up under the blindfold as he counted in his mind how many times he had cut Alfred.

'Seventy-three.' Arthur whispered.

'How unfortunate.' Ivan breathed into Arthur's ear. 'I wonder what you wrote on him.' Russia dug the knife into Arthur's skin; just enough to well up a drop of blood. Russia caught it on his finger and licked it off his leather glove. 'You have been drinking.' Russia stated. He paused and stuffed the rags back into the Englishman's mouth.

Gently, so as not to hurt Arthur, Russia traced lines with the tip of the knife. Enough to scratch the skin, but not enough to draw any more blood. When he finished the word, he leant back and looked at it. Педофил. He traced the word with a single finger. He really ought to check if what England cut into Alfred had scarred.

'Do you have a parker?' Russia asked, dragging his fingers through Arthur's hair. 'Actually, I have one.' Following the lines he made with the knife, he marked them out with a permanent marker. 'This marker is different,' Russia said as he wrote words across England's lands. 'It does not wash off until your skin grows out.'

'I ought to mark your face also.' Russia pulled one of the chairs from under the table, allowing it to drag across the floor. Arthur jumped at the sound. He straddled the chair so he could lean his arms on the back of it. 'Something pretty, da?' He held the knife to Arthur's cheek, delighted at how England squirmed pitifully against his bonds. 'How about "monarchal pig"? Nyet, too crude.' He tapped the flat of the blade against England's cheekbone before rising and scooping his pipe up.

He pushed himself up onto the table so he was sitting with one knee on each side of Arthur's body. 'You fear me, don't you?' Ivan waited until Arthur nodded before moving again. He licked his lips and pressed the length of pipe against Arthur's throat, so that when he leant forwards, Arthur's windpipe would be forced shut. 'Now, I don't know what you did to Alfred today, but you had better pray to your God that I never find out, otherwise I shall not keep my promise to Alfred that you remain unharmed. You understand, da?'

Arthur nodded quickly, and Russia put pressure on the pipe to make him freeze. 'Also, if you touch Alfred again, you will not be feeling the flat side of my pipe.' Releasing the pipe, Russia leant forwards and wrote 'monarchal pig' on Arthur's left cheek before getting up and collecting his clothes. 'Do not forget what it is like to be that powerless.' Russia threatened, before leaving Arthur prone on the table to be found by Francis, naked and bound, much to the Frenchman's delight, the next morning.

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><p><strong>Notes;<br>**Let's see, Lyubov means love in Russia, and the other one earlier? I forget, but the one that I left in Cyrillic text means pedophile in English.  
>Arthur wrote 'PROPERTY OF ARTHUR KIRKLAND' on on Alfred's skin somewhere, I haven't decided yet, but that's the seventy-three cuts.<br>Now, Review! or you don't get the next chapter, and it's the chapter that everyone's really reading this story for... Yup! Rus/Ame PWP~ So... let's see, if I get ten reviews, I'll post it. I'm currently on 23 reviews in total, so when I get to 33, you get your chapter~ Sorry to be mean, but you review for Kumakichi-san, won't you? (... or was it Kumajiro?=])  
>Love ya guys, Lispet OUT! *Flies off with cape*<p> 


	6. The deed

**Chapter 5;**

This chapter is for Shadow-chan. She had this great idea for the whole sex part, and the pervert in me couldn't resist… ;) Also, I love making Alfred into a needy slut. It kinda suits him, I don't know why, but... yeah.

Also, thanks to the person who attempted to flame me big time. I particularly loved the whole part about how history probably didn't happen quite that way, but honestly? I don't give a flying fuck. Any publicity is good publicity. Not to mention that your attempts to change my ways made me laugh big time. Like, I was rolling around on my bed kinda thing. *le sigh* I love humanity.

Also, I have a poll that I'd very much like you to answer... it's about what I'm going to write next, so kinda very important. Please vote, it'll only take a second, and it's on my profile!~ Just clicky-click on the link that says 'Lispet' up top there, it's not too hard, and I'd appreciate it greatly. Actually, how about you don't review this chapter, and instead, vote on the poll! It'd probably take less time!

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><p>Satisfied that Alfred was safe, Ivan walked home in the dwindling light, hoping that he wouldn't be to late home to have a shower. When he opened the door, he found Alfred sitting on the doormat, just inside the hall.<p>

'Well?' Alfred demanded, standing up.

'Well what?' Ivan leant forwards and pecked Alfred on the lips. 'Arthur won't touch you again. I did not hurt him, but he regrets touching you.' Ivan kissed Alfred again, pouting when Alfred pulled back before he could deepen the kiss.

'I… I just realised that I left the heater on upstairs… I'll just go get it.' Alfred smiled as best he could before dashing up the stairs as quickly as he could. _Fuck!_ Why did he have to react this way? He placed his hands over his chest and stopped in the middle of the hall, outside Ivan's room. He had nothing to fear. He trusted Ivan, and… He growled, deep in his throat. It wasn't fair!

'Al? You alright?' Alfred jumped when he heard the voice.

'Who's there?' He called tentatively

'Al, I'm right here, you numbskull!' Matthew waved his hand in front of his twin's eyes and Alfred leapt backwards, startled. 'You alright?'

'Yeah, just being silly.' Alfred smiled and let himself into Ivan's room, heading for the shower. He should wash, and then go to sleep. In the morning, he'd be fine, know that he was safe when he woke up in Ivan's arms and he'd see how things went from there.

Well, that was the plan, wasn't it?

He grinned at himself in the mirror, but let if slide from his face. It was too fake, like Russia's smile was most of the time. Maybe something like being raped made Russia the way he was?

Alfred snorted, flicking the hot water on. It'd have to be a bloody strong nation to subdue Russia.

He shed his clothes and sighed as the hot water cascaded down in his shoulders and head when he stepped under the water. Leaning over, he picked up the bottle of shampoo from the shelf. He'd just quickly wash his hair.

Rubbing the suds through his hair, he moaned and pressed his forehead to the cold tiles when he had to include Nantucket in the washing process. He wound the lock of hair around his finger, gently tugging at it. He couldn't help it half the time. It felt so good!

Forcing himself to drop Nantucket, he rinsed his hair and attacked his skin, removing all traces of sweat and grime from his limbs, but when that was done, he leant his back against the tiles, reaching up again to tug on his haywire hair.

'Ahh, shit…' He groaned, reaching out to grip something so he wouldn't fall over. Easing himself into the corner, the American found enough support so that he wouldn't fall over if he weren't gripping something as tightly as possible.

With one hand still wound in his hair, he reached the other one down, splaying it across his stomach, rubbing knots from his muscles with his thumb. He probably shouldn't really be doing this. He couldn't remember if he locked the door or not…

'Fuck it.' Alfred ran his hand down his skin, the muscles in his leg tensing up. He hated being so ticklish sometimes. He sighed in relief when his hand wrapped around his cock, already stiff from the stimulation on Nantucket.

He was just glad that it wasn't common knowledge that Nantucket was his erogenous zone.

He flicked his thumb over the head a couple of times, before stroking himself in quick movements. Whimpers escaped his throat, and his movements became erratic, harsher, more desperate. He had no memories to aid his release, all of them too violent, too painful.

'Would you like some help there?' A cold hand softly caressing his skin accompanied the words. Too desperate to open his eyes, Alfred nodded quickly. The hand vanished from his skin, before nudging the hand on Florida away. Alfred gasped when the cold hand replaced his, its twin on his waist. The heat of the water did nothing to warm the flesh that touched his as Ivan experimented with Alfred's body.

Alfred kept stroking Nantucket as Ivan did the same to Florida. Ivan smiled and kissed Alfred's stomach, pleased by the whimpers that continued to issue from his throat. 'Fuck…' Alfred swore, giving Nantucket one last yank before reaching out blindly for Ivan.

Ivan removed his hand from Alfred's cock and took Alfred's hand instead, squeezing it quickly.

'D-don't stop please!' Alfred sounded embarrassed to say this as Ivan guided Alfred's hand to his shoulder.

'I won't.' Ivan chuckled. So that was how he could get past Alfred's nerves. Catch him in the shower or, hmm… Ivan looked up at Alfred's face. Wasn't Alfred playing with his hair a second ago?

Ivan shrugged and put his hand back on Florida, his lips and tongue shortly following. As he had expected, Alfred's hand tightened around his shoulder, almost painfully, but he didn't mind. If Ivan was correct, as he usually was, then no one had done this to Alfred before.

The Russian held Alfred's hips tightly so he couldn't buck them when Ivan took Florida into his mouth. Ivan swirled his tongue around Alfred's head, slipping his tongue under the foreskin before taking more of his needy length into his mouth, sucking gently on it.

Alfred's hand tightened on Ivan's shoulder again, and Ivan took one hand from the American's hip to take Alfred's hand instead. Alfred was probably strong enough to break the bone by accident.

Ivan took more of Florida into his mouth, his stomach clenching when it hit the back of his throat. He forced his gag reflex down, glad that he still could. He kept sucking on the length, pulling his head back a little to run his tongue up and down the flesh, teasing the slit just a little.

He was taken quite by surprise when Alfred's hand tightened around his own, and Alfred cried out, rather loudly might he add, when the American came.

Russia leant backwards, standing at the same time. He never did like that feeling. Hot, _thick_, liquid spattering into his mouth, usually tasting relatively bitter. He was also surprised to find that Alfred's seed didn't taste all that bitter; it was just… _Alfred_.

He wrinkled his nose and was about to spit everything out of his mouth and Alfred's hands, one on either side of his face, stopped him.

'Wait…' Alfred stood on his toes, relying on Ivan to support him, and caught Ivan's lips with his own. In that moment, Alfred was only aware of how cold Ivan was, but how he still throbbed with so much life and vitality, and how Ivan kind of wrapped around him. He didn't feel trapped… he felt…

…_safe…_

Alfred's tongue wormed into Ivan's mouth, disregarding his warm liquid, and when Ivan opened his mouth to grant access and then, fight back with his own tongue, Ivan was glad that the cum wasn't in his mouth any more.

Alfred dropped back to his normal height, breaking the kiss. They remained stationary, the warm water breaking the bridge of cum and saliva that hung between their lips.

Alfred felt slightly dazed, god; that had to be _the_ _best_ fucking orgasm that he'd had. Ever. 'Well,' America chuckled quietly, '_damn_.'

'It's quite nice, da?' Ivan picked Alfred up, wrapping the American's legs around his waist. He mentally scolded himself as he did this. He didn't think to bring any lube now, did he?

He pressed his lips to Alfred's, glancing around as he did this. It was his house. Maybe someone had left some lying around?

Of course not. But… ah! He grinned and deepened the kiss. He could probably get away with using shampoo, or conditioner. They probably worked better than spit. Reaching out, he pushed down on the pump handle for the conditioner, rubbing the gooey yellow substance between forefinger and thumb.

'Now,' Russia murmured, 'just relax, alright?' He gave Alfred no further warning, and slid a finger into Alfred carefully. Alfred whimpered, his legs clamping tight around Ivan. 'Is that alright?' Ivan ducked his head slightly, stroking Alfred's cheek with his other hand.

Alfred opened his sapphire eyes a crack, and Ivan could see the pain in them. It wasn't now pain; it was old pain, and fright. Slowly, Alfred nodded. He had to trust Ivan. He had to stop being a wuss.

'Good,' Ivan murmured, pressing his lips to Alfred's forehead. He inserted another finger, wiggling the tips of his fingers. With a bit of luck he ought to – ah hah!

'Fuck, Ivaan!' Alfred couldn't help but whine loudly and buck his hips against Ivan's hand when the Russian's fingers nudged something inside him that made his stomach burn so nicely. Ivan brushed against it again, reaching up to twirl Nantucket between his fingers before slowly pushing his finger in and out again. Alfred's grip tightened around the Russian.

Ivan didn't stop, he just peppered kisses across America's tanned skin, waiting for him to become used to the feeling. When Ivan deemed Alfred sufficiently relaxed, he carefully inserted a second finger into Alfred, gently seeking the American's mouth to take away the sting. He winced when Alfred bit his lip roughly. He pulled back and tongued the lip, tasting the metallic tang of blood.

'D… don't be so gentle. I won't break.' Alfred let his head fall back, lust heavily clouding his words.

'If you say so,' Russia scissored his fingers, continuing to rub Nantucket as he did so. Alfred let out a throaty moan, throwing his head backwards. Russia removed his fingers from Alfred's ass and reached for the conditioner again, rubbing it in his fist to warm it quickly before rubbing it over his long-hard cock. He placed his hands on Alfred's hips, holding him still for long enough to line himself up. 'This will hurt a little.' Russia promised, nibbling at Alfred's collarbones. 'I am a little bigger than England.'

Alfred just nodded and wiggled his hips desperately. He couldn't understand himself why his attitude had suddenly turned around, but it was probably around when Ivan started fingering him.

Ivan tightened his grip on Alfred's hips, and pulled the American down as he pushed up, swearing in Russian when Alfred clenched around him, the American himself giving a loud moan and a hasty curse. Russia _was_ bigger than England. A lot bigger. But he fit better too, it hurt less, and _holymotheroffuckingGod_ he wanted so much more.

As if reading his mind, Russia slid out of him until only the very tip of Ivan's cock was still in him, before pushing back in.

'Ahh, fuck _shit_, faster, a-and _harder~_.' Alfred wormed his fingers around the back of Ivan's neck. Ivan was cold inside him compared to the shower water. America desperately needed some sort of friction and Ivan could give it to him.

'Patience,' Russia murmured, but he complied anyway, hunching his shoulders forward to get the leverage he needed to move faster, deeper, harder. Ivan quickly began panting with the effort, slightly hindered by the fact the America was so tightly clenched around him.

Neither of them noticed the water go cold as Ivan thrust roughly into the American, hitting Alfred's sweet spot almost in every move. 'Тесновато…' Russia groaned, reaching his hand between their bodies to find Florida. Alfred bucked and cried out under Ivan's touches, unable to keep the noises in. 'You… are rather… loud,' Ivan punctuated each word with a thrust, Alfred practically screaming as he did so.

Alfred thought he was going to melt in that moment, he could feel his orgasm fast approaching, each delicious movement on Ivan's cock sent shivers up his spine, and each tug on Florida made him squirm, creating a cycle in a way. Each time he tightened around Ivan's cock, Ivan would thrust again, moving his hand the same way, and Alfred would tighten again, and repeat.

'Fuck Ivaan!~' Alfred screamed, very heroically, as he'd remember it, (he never thought that he'd be a screamer, heroes were moaners at the most), and came hard, his fluids quickly washed away by the now cold water. 'Shit…' he panted, clinging onto Ivan tightly. The Russian continued to surge into him in short, erratic strokes, now merely seeking his own orgasm.

A few thrusts later and Ivan's grip on Alfred loosened, and Ivan smiled slightly as he felt the heady rush and then the calming, peaceful feeling and Alfred's ass milked him. After a few quiet moments, in which the two nations clung to each other, Ivan spoke up, 'Это не больно, я надеюсь.'

'English, bitch.' Alfred smiled and pulled himself up to kiss Ivan, more gentle than usual.

'Я не могу, я забыл, как это сделать.' Ivan chuckled quietly, stepping back. Alfred winced when Ivan slipped out of him and he had to support his own weight on his legs.

He pitched forwards, grabbing Ivan's arms to steady himself. 'Fuck that hurts, ugh…' he lifted one leg, stretching the muscles before doing the same with the other leg. 'You are so carrying me everywhere in the morning!' Alfred leant on the wall and stepped out of the shower, leaving Ivan standing in the cold water.

'любой.' Ivan turned the tap off and followed the American.

'Hey,' Alfred turned around, 'got any lube? I mean, we got fuck all knows how much sex to make up for, and… I kinda like it now, just a little teensy, eensy bit… just so you know.'

'Great,' Ivan muttered, glad to have finally found his English, 'I've turned you from a prude to a sex addict.' Ivan cuffed Alfred over the back of the head, 'I think Lithuania will have to bring us breakfast tomorrow, da?'

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><p>'Sorry Maria,' Matthew blushed and kissed the blonde girl again, one hand rubbing one of her breasts gently, the other more forcefully rubbing the obvious bulge in his pants, 'I... just...' He fumbled for words for a moment. 'Alfred.' He finally said firmly.<p>

Maria just laughed and pounced on him, pushing him backwards, 'Просто заткнись i ебать мене вже.'

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><p>Well, this is the end... I know, I finished it. Sorry it's so short and not really... that... sexy. I mean, I haven't written much of this shit before. I generally focus on the emotions, rather than the actual sexy, hot and sometimes gross details. But the details are what makes it porn, so I tried. I think I wrote parts of this like, six times... ugh. It's better nao, but it wasn't before. It didn't... flow, but enough of that...<p>

Also, vote on the poll please *hint hint* All three will involve steamy sex, in the case of the FrUK one, literally, steamy sex. *cough*le magics*cough*

**Translations;**

Russian  
>Тесновато - so tight<br>Это не больно, я надеюсь - that did not hurt, I hope  
>Я не могу, я забыл, как это сделать - I can't, I forgot how to<br>любой - whatever

Ukrainian  
>Просто заткнись i ебать мене вже - Just shut up and fuck me already<p> 


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